


Vivre d’amour et d’eau fraiche

by ABroodyGay



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Pupcake in Paris!, Smut, my babies going on holiday together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-10
Updated: 2016-04-11
Packaged: 2018-05-25 23:35:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6214609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABroodyGay/pseuds/ABroodyGay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So you tell her, once again of the peddlers around Sacre Coeur selling trinkets and souvenirs, the stained glass windows in Notre Dame, the scantily clad girls at the Moulin Rouge, the couples walking along the Seine…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Le Voyage

**Author's Note:**

> The title's translation is "living on love and fresh water" which is a French phrase meaning to need love and nothing else.

_“Bonjour monsieur,deux pains s'il vous plaît.”_

You watch her try to repeat the phrase but her face turns a pale shade of green and she runs for the side of the boat again. Sighing you follow and rub her back as she retches, ready with the mints and a bottle of water. “How much longer until we get there?” She sounds so tired and miserable it makes your heart ache.

“A few more hours I’m afraid darling. I didn’t realise the crossing would be so rough.”She takes the water and sips while you walk back to your seat. “I’ve never been on a ferry my whole life and the first time I get to go on one I spend most of the time with my head stuck over the side.” She flops back into the seat and takes the mint you offer.You want to comfort her so badly, wrap your arms around her and pull her onto your lap but there are too many prying eyes. “I promise you’ll feel better the moment we dock.” Looking around to make sure no-one is watching you sit down as close as you can and press a fleeting kiss to her forehead.

You had both spent the previous evening doing a little last minute packing and gossiping in turn with Trixie and Barbara and by the time you had actually finished it was well past midnight, but despite only having had four hours sleep (to catch the early ferry at six am from the Poplar docks) Delia still seemed bubbly and excited and now it felt like the start of your trip and hit a rather huge low.

“Tell me about Paris again Pats...you make it sound so beautiful...” She sounds wistful and sleepy and she looks up at you with eyes so blue you think you could drown in them.

So you tell her, once again of the peddlers around _Sacre Coeur_ selling trinkets and souvenirs, the stained glass windows in _Notre Dame_ , the scantily clad girls at the _Moulin Rouge_ , the couples walking along the _Seine_ …

You hadn’t been to Paris since you were eighteen with your cousin; that was ten years ago and there were still traces of the war, bombed out buildings, craters in the road, empty eyed men and an overall grey tinge to the city your mother told you was the crowning jewel of Europe. Things were certain to look far different now, in a new decade. It’s then you realise that Delia has drifted off against your shoulder, so you let her sleep and only wake her when you’re pulling into port.

“Delia, sweetheart we’ve arrived.” You resist the urge to kiss her awake but can’t help but watch her eyes flicker open with what you know is an adoring smile on your face. You collect your luggage from storage smiling gratefully when a porter takes them down to the dock for you.

You get a taxi into the next town, trying to remember what French small talk you had learned and after a short stroll ‘round the market square, you find a charming hotel next to a crumbling church. The elderly woman who owns it cooks you a light meal of onion soup with fresh bread and the most delicious _crème brûlée_ you have ever eaten (Delia’s first). She babbles away in French with a thick Normandy accent you can only just decipher, pouring you water and cutting more bread. She fusses over how pale Delia looks and insists on carrying your luggage upstairs for you.

_“Vous deux avez besoin de sommeil,non? Il vous reste un long chemin pour Paris..”_

The room is small, ensuite with twin beds, but you are used to cramming yourself into one, you’ve never known the luxury of having a bed that fits the two of you properly.While Delia’s in the bathroom you don’t bother unpacking more than clean clothes for the next day and when you go to pull out your pyjamas you find Delia’s hand on yours.“Why bother? No-one is going to come in…and it’s a warm night.” That playful smile is on her face and your heart gives a little skip at the twinkle in her eye.

“I see your point… very well. Just let me freshen up.” You lean down and kiss her gently, tasting the sugar from the _crème brûlée_ you had for dessert. You wash with the lavender soap she usually uses, and brush your hair out properly. She loves to be able to twist it round her fingers and you’d used rather too much lacquer this morning.

You slip out of your dress and underwear. It’s been awhile since you’ve been exposed to her like this. You can’t risk it at Nonnatus… too many chances of someone walking iand then where would you be? But here… a whole week of lazy mornings and late nights. Just the thought of being pressed against her like this makes your head spin.

Slipping back quietly into the room you put your dress back in your suitcase, not bothering to fold it properly before switching off the lights and sliding under the cool crisp sheets. She’s so warm and soft, and it feels like perfection. You press yourself against her back, littering soft kisses across her shoulders-

And she lets out a gentle snore.

The little snuffle you’ve become accustomed to, being squeezed together in a tiny bed made you intimately familiar with each others nighttime sounds and you know by now she is already fast asleep.

Letting out a little sigh of disappointment you suppose the excitement and adventure of the day has finally caught up with her. Sweeping the hair from her face you press a soft kiss to her cheek and throw your arm around her waist before following her into the deepest and gentlest sleep you’ve had in months.

  
  
  



	2. La ville de l'amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s every bit as spectacular as she promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to PatsyMountsDelia (my gorgeous girlfriend) for the help with the French (as mine is abysmal).

 

When you awake it’s to the distant crow of a cockerel. Patsy’s arm is heavy on your waist, her breath warm on your neck and for a few minutes you luxuriate in the feeling of her bare skin against yours. You bite your lip when you realise her breasts are pressed against your back and you twist carefully in the bed to face her and kiss her cheeks, her nose, her forehead and her lips until her eyelids flutter open.

“Morning, darling.”

She stretches a little in your arms and you note with amusement that there are creases from the pillow imprinted on her face. She gazes at you with sleepy eyes as a mischievous grin slowly appears.

“I do believe we are both quite naked, Miss Busby.”  

Her hands find their way around your waist again, pulling you closer. It’s been so long since you’ve been able to be together like this, skin on skin, and it’s sending shivers up your spine. You can feel your nipples harden and the room is far from cold. You can’t resist it anymore and you capture her lips in a languid kiss, moaning into her mouth when her teeth nip at your bottom lip.

You find yourself pressed against the mattress in a matter of seconds, Patsy grinning down at you with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. You can only watch now as her fingers drift from your collarbone then down your chest to brush over your nipples. Gasping softly, you arch your back into her touch, wordlessly begging for more. She complies and pinches them gently, pulling a little and you can feel the throbbing between your legs grow with every passing second. Leaning up to kiss her she teases you, moving her head away just as you reach her lips making you whine in frustration.

“Patsy...please...I need-” You voice is low and breaks as she pinches your nipples again before dipping her head and taking the left one between her lips. She has always loved your breasts, you often catch her discreetly eyeing them but she is obviously enjoying the opportunity to explore them without the worry of being interrupted.

She looks so beautiful on top of you like this, hair in messy waves, not a stitch of clothing on her, her pale skin glowing in the morning sun.  She scoots down your thighs a little and you miss her warm weight on top of you but when you feel her lips press against the sensitive skin below your navel you press a hand over your eyes and moan softly.

“I want to taste you…” She murmurs  it with her mouth pressed against your inner thigh. You are beyond words now, you can feel her breath between her legs and you can’t help but shudder. You always thought, when you started being intimate, you would be the confident one...but Patsy was and is a terrible tease.

“ _Er mwyn popeth..._ stop teasing…”

She nips at your inner thigh playfully. “What's the magic word Delia?” You thread your fingers through her hair and pull her closer barely biting back a whimper of frustration.

_“Please.”_

The moan that leaves your lips when her tongue swipes through you is low and deep. She’s so good at this, how she explores every inch of you, like it’s the first time, even though she knows you like the back of her own hand,knows what will make you gasp and squirm and buck. She switches from long and languid strokes to focusing on the areas she knows you are sensitive, and when one finger just teases inside you as her tongue flicks rapidly over your clit you know it’s only going to be a matter of minutes before you’re coming undone. You hook a leg over her shoulder and press her closer with your heel on her back and for once she has mercy on you, grasping your backside with both hands and pulling your clit between her lips as she curls her finger firmly inside you.

It feels like falling off a cliff sometimes but you know Patsy is going to be ready to catch you. You know you are calling out her name, high and broken as you tip over the edge but she doesn’t stop and takes you to the peak again, gently easing another finger inside you, her tongue swirling around your clit.

When you finally relax back into the bed, still twitching a little from aftershocks, the first thing you notice is her cheek pressed against your lower stomach, lips and chin still wet and wearing a quietly smug grin on her face. You cup her cheek and wipe the slickness of her mouth with the pad of your thumb.

“Love you, _cariad._ ”

* * *

You travel two hours later, after a hastily eaten breakfast of the most delicious omelettes you have ever eaten in your life.

You change trains three times, passing through towns you don’t even bother attempting to pronounce and then you are stepping out of _Gare Du Nord_ into the city that Patsy has told you is the most romantic and beautiful in the world.

It’s every bit as spectacular as she promised.

The streets are so much wider than London, the architecture grand and switching effortlessly between classic and modern. It’s every bit as noisy as Poplar but gone are the harsh Cockney accents and shouts of jellied eel and two punnets a penny, instead it's snatches of a language almost as melodic as your mother tongue, jumbled together and coupled with the beeping of the car horns.

It is almost a relief to step into the cool marble foyer of _Hotel de Crillon_. Patsy had said it was beautiful but you hadn’t been prepared for this. Never in your life did you think you would be staying in a place like this.

Your idea of luxury was the tea rooms where you met your mother once a month, fancy china sets and a cream tea, but _this..._ if only your parents could see you now _._

_“ Désolé, Mademoiselle Mount , mais il me semble qu’il y a eu une erreur avec la chambre, il y a un lit double, est-ce un problème? Nous pouvons changer si vous le souhaitez-"_

You see her flush. You don’t know exactly what was said but it must have been... _delicate._ You watch her take a deep breath, straighten her back and give the maître d' the signature “Nurse Mount no nonsense smile”.

_“Non, il n'y a pas de problème, mais je vous remercie de votre consideration. Pourrions-nous récupérer la clé de notre chambre s'il vous plaît ?_ _?”_

Your luggage is taken off you by a suited busboy, who you follow down a maze of red plush carpet halls, covered in the most stunning pieces of art you have ever seen. He leaves you with a tip of his hat and mutter of thanks for the francs Patsy presses into his hand. And then you are alone in the most gorgeous room you have ever laid eyes on.

“Oh _Patsy…”_

The room is ensuite with a double bed, covered in a silk throw, matching pillows and curtains, lambs wool rugs, an open fire (though you doubt you will need it with the weather being so mild) and a view of _Notre Dame_ , flood lit against the moonlit sky. Patsy toes off her shoes and flops back on the bed and you are joining her seconds later. “I can’t believe we have a bed that’s big enough for the both of us!” she sighs stretching out luxuriously. You bite your lip thinking of this morning, how you had both almost toppled off the bed while she was riding your fingers.

“That’s not the only thing it’s big enough for...” And you pin her to the mattress with a giggle and a passionate kiss.

* * *

Patsy wakes you the next morning with a lazy kiss. You wish you could spend the rest of the day in bed with her but she reminds you there is so much to see and do. “I thought we could take a stroll along the Seine, to start with. It’s still fairly quiet.”

You wash and dress quickly, not bothering to stay for the breakfast in your hotel (despite the delicious smells) and buy a freshly baked baguette from the _boulangerie_ on the corner of the street.

You break it in half and eat it slowly as you take in the small barges, the immaculately dressed couples, the delivery boys on their bikes and pausing every now and again behind an artist at his easel. You fall in love with one picture, a boy floating a toy boat with his father crouched next to him. You reach for your purse but Patsy covers your hand and starts to barter in her almost fluent French and you end up paying half of what the artist was asking for in the first place.

“This will look lovely in my room...and one day our home.”  You slide your fingers through hers and squeeze and the shy smile she gives you makes you fall in love with her all over again.

* * *

You take the _Abbesse_ metro line to _Sacré-Cœur_ and take your time walking up the many stairs to the gleaming white domes. You are practically accosted by tinkers selling homemade trinkets and just to get the rest of the way up in peace, you end up buying a rosary for each of the Sisters and a fan decorated with flamenco dancers for Nurse Crane.

You’ve never been all that religious. You father insisted you all went to Chapel on a Sunday morning and you associate religion with a numb backside and starched itchy petticoats. The quiet and solid faith of the Sisters had left some impression on you though. Their dedication to their profession and their call of poverty was impressive and sincere but still the certainty of their judgement if they ever caught you and Patsy was a constant fear…

But here you allow peace and presence of _something_ holy surround you. Your mouth dropped open in awe when you caught sight of the golden mural on the interior of the dome. The scent of incense washes over you and when Patsy slips a discreet hand in yours for once you know that God, no matter what anyone else said, that whatever he, she or it was loved you, loved Patsy and loved your love for each other.

You head back into the main city for a lunch of _Croque-monsieur_ and you insist on paying. Your funds are rather less but you don’t want Patsy to always foot the bill. You know exactly where all this extra cash has come from. You saw her poring over the same letter for weeks. Trying to word her letter to her father for the extra spending money. You know very, very little about him. The cards he sends her at Christmas and on her birthday are hidden in her box of treasures to be read and re-read in the early hours when she can’t sleep. You never ask about him now. When you used to try to get her talk talk about him, her shoulders would tighten and that she would wear that cool and impassive mask it took you six months to break. All you know is that he hasn’t actually spoken a word to her since she was eighteen. That she has long stopped inviting him to come and visit and that she is the living reminder of what he lost. She carries that guilt with her constantly.

She suggests Notre Dame but you decide that you’ve had enough of churches for one day and you beg to go to the Eiffel Tower. Evening is setting in fast and you want desperately to see Paris by night, despite the protests from your aching feet. You split the cost to go all the way to the top by elevator (you can’t face all those steps to the second floor). Half way up, Patsy starts to looks a little pale and without warning she grabs hold of your hand, so hard it almost hurts.

“Pats...are you alright?” She gives you a tight smile that doesn’t fool you for a second.

“Yes...I’m fine...I’ve been up here before I just don’t remember it being quite so...high.”You’re the only ones in this elevator so you tip her chin up with two fingers to meet your eyes. “Look at me, _glywsed_.” And she does, and for the time it takes you to reach the top you forget where you are, you forget the thousands of people below you and lose yourself in her eyes.

You jump when the doors crash open, choking out a hurried thank you to the attendant and gaze out on Paris at night. The city sparkles like diamonds, people are going home to husbands and wives, children are tucked up in bed, friends are laughing, lovers are kissing. Life continues while you stand and lose yourself in the wonder of it all.

“Oh Patsy...it’s beautiful.”

You feel her hand on your waist and you turn and watch as she casts a hasty look over her shoulder to make sure no-one is watching. The last thing she says before she kisses you is; “Not as beautiful as you, my darling.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> French Translation:  
> \--> Désolé, Mademoiselle Mount , mais il me semble qu’il y a eu une erreur avec la chambre, il y a un lit double, est-ce un problème? Nous pouvons changer si vous le souhaitez- = Sorry , Miss Mount , but there seems bound to be an error with the room, there is a double bed , is there a problem? We can change if you-
> 
> Non, il n'y a pas de problème, mais je vous remercie de votre consideration. Pourrions-nous récupérer la clé de notre chambre s'il vous plaît ?= No, there is no problem , but thank you for your consideration.  
> Could we get our room key please ?
> 
> Welsh translation:  
> Er mwyn popeth - for goodness sake  
> Cariad - sweetheart  
> glywsed - beautiful


	3. Au Revoir Paris

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She begs you to take her to the Louvre. That she wants to write and tell her mother she has seen works by Caravaggio, Raphael and Leonardo Da Vinci. Most of all she wants to say she has set eyes on the Mona Lisa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been a pleasure writing this story and I'm touched by the response I've received. Enjoy this last chapter and au revoir!

You knew this week wouldn’t last forever. It flies by in flashes of Delia’s laugh, relaxed mornings curled around each other, delicious food and the beauty of Paris.

Right now you've been awake for an hour, content just to lay with each other, listen to the hustle and bustle of the city outside of your window...but Delia is never one to spend too long doing nothing.

She begs you to take her to the _Louvre_. That she wants to write and tell her mother she has seen works by Caravaggio, Raphael and Leonardo Da Vinci. Most of all she wants to say she has set eyes on the Mona Lisa.

“You promised you’d take me...as appealing as the idea of spending our last day together in bed is...”

You have taken to sleeping naked every night and you dread the idea of going back to your creaking single bed at Nonnatus without the feeling of her skin pressed against yours.

She’s littering kisses behind your ear as she whispers about all she wants to do today when you finally drag yourself out of bed and walk to the bathroom throwing a coy look over her shoulder.

“Join me in the bath, Delia?”

You don’t have to ask twice.

* * *

It takes you far too long to actually get washed and dressed that it’s lunch time by the time you leave, so you go back to the bakery and buy a freshly baked baguette and two eclairs. You eat it while you walk your usual route along the Seine, then catch the metro to the center of Paris.

Despite the darkest period of your childhood in the POW camp, you know you were privileged, before and after it. You regularly went on trips to museums with school, and your parents had taken you to historical places in Japan. So while you admire the artwork, the marble statues...it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. You know Delia had a far brighter childhood than you, more time with family, exploring with her brothers, days at the seaside, adventures in the woods, but her mother's idea of culture was twin sets and tea rooms. So to see her mouth drop open in awe at the marble statues, the detail in the paintings...you translate the descriptions with your almost fluent French but you realise after the fifth one she’s not listening. She’s lost to the splendour of it all.

She’s practically vibrating with excitement when you get in the queue to see the Mona Lisa. It’s all she’s been talking about since you arrived. “Just wait til I tell Auntie Blod…” And then her face falls.

“Is that it?”

You frown. “Delia?” She looks so crestfallen it makes your heart break a little.

“It’s tiny...and…” Suddenly she is biting back a snort of mirth. What on earth was going on?

She presses her mouth to your ear and hisses, “ _Mae'n edrych fel mae hi'n ceisio peidio â_ _rhech”._

You don’t know what she’s just said but she apparently it was considerably funny because she’s gone. Giggling rather too loudly in the vast and mostly silent room. The ushers are glaring so you grab her by the hand and drag her out into a corridor.

It takes her five minutes to stop laughing.

* * *

You spend the rest of the afternoon shopping for souvenirs, a beret each for Trixie, Barbara,Chummy and Phyllis, a set of thimbles decorated with the landmarks of Paris for Delia’s parents, a bottle of Cognac each for Fred and Tom, a box of chocolates for the Turners and a book of French recipes translated to English for Mrs B.

You walk back to the hotel, loaded down with your acquisitions and kick off your shoes before flopping back on the bed.

“I can’t believe it’s been a week.” You turn on your side and look at her. She has that deep pensive look on her face, her deep blue eyes hazy and distant.

“Penny for them?” You stroke her cheek with the back of your finger and she smiles at the soft touch.

“I was just thinking...that one day our life will always be like this...that one day we will be able to shut the door on the world, on our jobs and just be. We almost had it once...we had it this week. We can have it again. I just know it.”

It’s times like this when that sneering voice in the back of your head comes out to play. That your attempts of giving Delia what she needed were pathetic, that you would never be able to give her enough, that you would always have to hide, always have to glance over your shoulder-

But then she kisses you and that voice disappears. That you know you can wait together and one day it will be as she says. Just you and her...in _your_ home.

She kisses you slowly, lazily. Her tongue traces along your lower lip and slips in your mouth, she hooks her leg over your hip, skirt sliding up her leg as she inches closer until you are pressed together. Her dress and then yours are stripped hastily off and she giggles when you don't bother unfastening your brassiere and just pull it over your head. Your fingers fumble at each others garters, become unpracticed in desire.

“Someone's eager..” she mutters against your mouth as her fingers dance teasingly down your stomach making the muscles twitch. She traces a single finger from hip to hip, along the waistband of your knickers. You can do nothing but squirm at her touch, whimper softly when her fingers play with the soft blonde curls between your legs.

“Delia... _please.”_

She taps your hips and you lift obediently. She peels them off. You would be embarrassed at just how wet you are. She’s barely been touching you five minutes and you can already feel your arousal cooling on your thighs. Her mouth is on your breasts pressing soft, open mouthed kisses against your skin before her lips close around your nipple and suck in a way that has you moaning in seconds.

When her fingers drift up your thigh you spread your legs a little while, blushing at her knowing chuckle. “Want something Pats?” You nod, your lip caught between your teeth.She barely brushes her fingers between your legs and you can’t help but whine.

“Does someone want my fingers inside them, hm?”

God above, when she starts talking like this you think dying of arousal is a distinct possibility.

“God, _yes,_ I need you...I need- _ah_!”

She presses a finger slowly inside you, brushing her thumb lightly over your clit. It feels heavenly but not enough and it doesn't take long before you are grinding shamelessly on her fingers.

“You look so gorgeous like this Patsy….And I’m the only one who gets to see it.” One finger becomes two and you bite down on the back of your hand in an attempt to muffle your cries just a little when she starts to press firm circles round your clit.

You're going to break any second so you lock your eyes on her face. She must feel your heavy gaze because her eyes flick up to meet yours. “That’s it _cariad_ , let go for me…”

And you do. You feel your orgasm break over you and not for a second do your eyes leave hers. You see so much love there it makes your heart feel like it’s going to burst with just how perfect she is.

She slows her movements, drags out every little shudder of pleasure until you are melting back into the pillows with a contented sigh. Watching her lick her fingers clean with that all too familiar impish grin. You roll on top of her, pin her wrists either side of her head and kiss the taste of yourself off her mouth.

You will never grow tired of the way she looks when she comes, hair curling softly around her face, cheeks flushed a soft pink and your name on her lips.

 

* * *

 

You spent the rest of the afternoon reading in bed together before you bathe and get ready for your last evening out. Delia lingered outside the restaurant across the street from your hotel each morning. It’s all plush velvet, candles in silver stands, crystal glasses… You haven’t told her but during one of your post lunch dozes you had snuck out without waking her and managed to book a table.

The look of delight on her face makes your heart sing. “Dad took us to a place this fancy...when I graduated from the RCN. We couldn’t afford more than a main course but he wanted us to celebrate.”

The Maitre D’ takes you to the table in a corner booth, one you had specially requested. You would both be able to relax a little more without the worry of prying eyes. You order a bottle of sparkling water along with the house wine and peruse the menu. It is classic French cuisine; _E_ _scargot, Foie Gras, Steak Tartare, Îles flottantes_ and _Gâteau Saint-Honoré_ and you have to carefully explain to Delia what each one actually is.

She decides to order the escargot, despite your warning of what they actually are...and for some reason she has that grin that means she’s planning something wicked. “Playing it safe with the Pate, Pats?”

You try to keep your face impassive but she of all people knows that you can’t turn down a challenge.

You both order the snails.

The waiter looks surprised but all the same takes the order and comes back with the two pronged forks needed to eat them and some bread and water for the table.Ten minutes later when your starters are placed in front of you Delia’s face falls.

“I didn’t know they would look…”

“Like snails?”

She scowls at you across the table and picks up the fork with a look of determination on her face. You watch as she hooks it out of the shell, wrinkling her nose. They’ve been served the classic way in garlic butter and a little is dripping off the snail back onto the plate.

“I’m not putting it in my mouth until you do.” You match her, and when she eats it, so do you. You both chew for a few seconds and slowly, Delia’s jaw stops moving and her mouth turns downwards in disgust.

You know you are wearing a similar expression.

“….there is a crêperie across the road…”

You don’t have to say another word. She grabs her purse and you throw some money on the table before you both dash out of the restaurant, hand in hand and trying not to giggle.

* * *

 

You step out into the cool night air, stuffed full of crêpes and squeeze Delias hand tight as you walk her back to the hotel. You had a better meal there than all the meals you’ve eaten since you arrived put together. Delia looks beautiful in the dim streetlights and the faint silver glow of the moon, chattering about how incredible her dessert crêpe was (raspberries and chocolate sauce).

Your heart should be light but your week is drawing to a close. One more sleep here and in Calais and it will be back to seperate rooms, sneaking kisses, wistful looks, your love hidden away again.

But you will always have Paris.

And you will always have each other.

And of course...there was always next year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll let you find out translate the Welsh for yourselves this time ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Bonjour monsieur,deux pains s'il vous plaît. - Good day, Sir two loaves if you please.
> 
> Vous deux besoin dormir, non? Il est tout à fait un long chemin à Paris- You need two need to sleep, right? It is quite a long way to Paris.


End file.
